


Of Love and Beauty

by bobbiewickham



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/pseuds/bobbiewickham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Harrenhal tournament, Ashara Dayne goes to comfort Elia Martell. Written before the release of A Dance with Dragons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Love and Beauty

"Elia?" Ashara stepped over the discarded pile of silks and velvets, entering the dark chamber. She frowned. Harrenhal was a cheerless castle, not the right place for her princess at this time. "Elia, where are you?" 

No answer. 

She would not be outside. Elia was delicate, and even in this sunny weather she would prefer the shelter of the castle. 

Perhaps that was why Rhaegar was so enamored of the strapping young Lady Lyanna. So fierce she was. Such a contrast to her pale, sweet Elia. _More fool him,_ Ashara thought with a scowl.

"Elia, won't you eat? I have some spiced eggs and mulled wine for you." The serving-maids said Elia had refused all food, but Ashara meant to see if she couldn't be coaxed or bullied into eating something. "Elia?"

Ashara heard a heavy sigh, and then a small voice: "I'm here. But I'm not hungry." 

She followed the voice into a small chamber to her left, barring the door behind her as she entered, and saw her princess sitting by the window, staring at a bush of blue roses in full bloom.

"Nonsense," Ashara said, keeping her voice brisk. "You must eat. Your lady mother charged me to look after you. And your babe deserves a strong, well-fed mother." 

Elia gave a bitter laugh. "Yes," she said, "and Rhaegar deserves a strong, well-fed wife." 

Ashara glared at her. Pulling up a small table, she drew it in front of Elia and set the platter of eggs on top of it. "Do not worry about Rhaegar," she said. "Eat." Her voice made it clear she would brook no argument. 

Elia quietly obeyed, nibbling without enthusiasm. Except for the wine. That she drank in one large swallow. But Ashara watched her with hawkish eyes to make sure she finished the food as well.

Elia laid her fork down and pushed the table with the platter away. She threw the rose bush another glance, but turned her gaze back to Ashara, stretching out her hand. "Come here," she said softly. "Please." 

Ashara went, taking Elia's hand in both of hers and sitting close to her, blinking as she turned toward's the sun's midday brightness. 

"Your hair looks so beautiful in the sun," Elia said. "It's always beautiful, but especially in the sun." She smiled suddenly. "You could almost be blood of the dragon yourself, you know. Almost. But you're too warm," she said, tugging at Ashara's braid, "warm like spring sunshine. The Targaryens burn hot, blazing hot, but they're never warm." 

Ashara felt a sharp pang of pity. For Prince Rhaegar to scorn his wife as he did...it was shamefully cruel, no matter how noble people thought him. She bent forward and kissed Elia's cheek, very gently, for Elia's skin was thin and pale as parchment. 

Elia's fingers clutched at Ashara's gown, and she turned her face swiftly so their lips met. Ashara felt Elia's mouth open and her hands move to the back of Ashara's head, twisting into her hair. 

She pulled back after a moment, pleased but bemused. Ashara thought Elia quite pretty, and she knew Elia thought her beautiful. She and Elia had shared a playful kiss or two before. But not like this. This was in earnest, filled with need and sorrow. 

“Princess...” she began. 

“Please, Ashara,” Elia said. “I...I need...and you seemed to like it...” 

Ashara felt her face grow heated. “Yes, but...yes, yes I did. But, Elia, I don't think...” Elia was melancholy, and no wonder, but Ashara was not her husband or her paramour. _Or her “bedmaid,” as these northerners would choose to call it._

Elia's hand slid up Ashara's thigh, over the folds of her pale violet gown. “I only want to please you. I...” She looked away, but the words kept tumbling from her mouth. “I need to know I can still please _somebody._ You don't have to let me, of course, but if you want to...please, in the names of all the gods, do not let propriety hold you back.”

Elia's sad voice had a lilting music to it, like the voice of a singer who sang of broken hearts and faithless lovers. 

Ashara took only a moment's thought before she leaned forward and kissed her. Elia made a soft noise of contentment. She moved her hand between Ashara's legs, yet still over the smooth cloth of the gown. 

Ashara's thighs tightened around the princess's fingers. She felt herself growing damp, damper still when she saw the hesitant half-smile beginning to bloom on Elia's sweet face. Gently she pulled back a little, away from Elia's hand, and pushed her skirts up. 

Elia's half-smile blossomed into a full one, lighting up her face. With the color in her cheeks now, no one would guess she was sickly. “You have such lovely legs, my lady,” she murmured, stroking Ashara's calf and moving upward to her bare thigh. “I've often admired them, when I've seen you undressing, or swimming, or riding with your skirts blowing about in the wind. But...” She undid Ashara's last undergarment, a thin cloth that covered hardly anything and was the only thing left between Elia and Ashara's most intimate parts. “I think I'll like the heat between them even more.” 

Ashara was too hazy with pleasure to think very clearly, but she did wish to see to her companion's pleasure as well as her own. She tried to kiss Elia, and then to slide a hand up the princess's skirts, but Elia laughingly pushed her away. “No, sweetling, lie back and simply let me pleasure you. Please. I want to make it so you think of naught but the delight while I'm doing this.” 

Ashara felt her own laughter well up from deep inside her in response. “That you've already managed... _oh_.” Elia's head was nestled between Ashara's thighs, her tongue expertly following where her fingers had gone before. 

Her tongue flicked and teased and stroked, all around Ashara's swollen nub but never actually on it. Before long Ashara was squirming, trying to guide Elia's head, thrusting herself against that maddening tongue. “Elia,” she gasped out. 

Elia looked up, her eyes meeting Ashara's. “I will, have no worry,” she said with another half-smile. “Please, let me do this for you the right way, the way that will bring you the most joy.” 

“By all means,” Ashara managed to say. Elia was as good as her word. Time after time Ashara felt as though she'd die of rapture, and each time Elia brought her to a new height. Finally Elia gave her full attention to Ashara's nub and suckled with all the force her tongue and lips could bring. 

Ashara's release was long and shuddering. Her whole body felt like jelly, like it had been turned inside out, or perhaps remade into something new. 

Elia hands slipped softly into her hair, very softly, as if Elia was suddenly timid. Ashara felt gentle fingers undoing her plaits. “Like silk,” Elia murmured as she ran her hands through Ashara's hair and leaned in for a kiss. Ashara turned the kiss into a long and deep one, tasting herself inside Elia's mouth. “So beautiful. I truly pleased you, didn't I? It's a pity I can't be _your_ wife. I would make you a good one, and I believe I'd enjoy it more....” She trailed off, perhaps not wishing to insult her lord husband. _Would that he could treat her with the same courtesy._

“I would be lucky indeed,” Ashara said, meaning every word. Elia was so good and kind. So merry, most of the time, and such fun to talk and dance and picnic with despite her delicacy. She appreciated a good jest, for all that she looked so sad and solemn. Many a time she and Ashara and the other lady companions would have fits of giggles over the silliest things—the way Prince Doran looked in his bathing costume, or the way Lady Nymella could mimic anyone. It was shameful of the gods and Prince Rhaegar to bring Elia to tears, when she could laugh like no other. 

All of that, and then to go to bed with her as well...

“I'd be the lucky one. You're so sweet to me, Ashara. Such a loving and loyal friend. Bringing me food, looking after me, cheering me in my suffering...” 

“'Tis a pity women can't wed with each other,” Ashara said lightly, wishing to divert Elia from thinking in earnest of her suffering. “We'd make each other far better husbands than the men do. All the marriages in the Seven Kingdoms would be less ridden with strife.” 

Elia giggled. “Perhaps I am better suited to be a wife to a woman than a man.” She strove to sound light-hearted, but Ashara could see the shadow still lurking behind the smile. 

She took Elia's hands in hers. “You _are_ a good wife, my princess,” she said. “A good wife to Prince Rhaegar. You've done your duty. It is _he_...the Crown Prince is a good man, to be sure,” although she was _not_ sure of this at all, but it wouldn't do to speak treason, “and he will rule wisely when the time comes, but it is he who is unsuited to be a husband. Some men are, you know, and yet they must marry. And their wives suffer for it.” 

“Sometimes I think you're right,” Elia said. “Most times, in fact. But other times I wonder. My mind agrees with you, my sweet, but my heart sometimes tells me the blame is mine.” 

“Of course I'm right. And so is your mind. I would soothe your heart, if I could,” Ashara said, laying a hand on Elia's heart and giving her breast a quick caress. 

Elia captured Ashara's wrist and held her hand there. “You can,” she said, pressing Ashara's hand against her breast. “You already have. My heart is so much lighter now.” She kissed her again, long and lingering, leisurely trailing her fingers through Ashara's hair. 

“Lay your head in my lap, sweetling,” Elia said. “I want to stroke your hair and look on your face at the same time.” 

It was very soothing, just lying there with Elia ministering to her. Ashara made a soft purring noise in the back of her throat, like a contented cat. 

“If you can't be my husband,” Elia said after a moment, “perhaps you could be my sister.” 

“You mean...” 

“I mean wed with Oberyn. Doran would be delighted. He expects Oberyn to make a thoroughly imprudent match, if he marries at all. If he weds a Dayne of Starfall, I think Doran would die of pure joy. And of course Oberyn would love you, with all your beauty and your spirit. He needs a wife with a will to match his, but with more prudence than he.” 

Ashara smiled, not knowing if Elia was jesting or speaking in earnest. “Well, if I can't marry you,” she said teasingly, “I suppose the next best thing would be to marry your brother.” 

Elia gave her a playful smile. “Or perhaps you'd prefer someone different. Someone...quieter, less troublesome, someone shy and prim and more...northern.” Ashara fought to control the expression on her face. “Someone like Lord Stark's second son? Hmm?” 

“Ned?” Ashara felt herself blushing and cursed her pale complexion. 

“Oh, it's _Ned_ now, is it?” Elia laughed, and then sobered. “Tell me, Ashara, do you love him? Do you hope to wed him?” 

“I only _danced_ with him,” Ashara protested. “It's nothing so serious as that.” 

“But you liked him,” Elia said. 

“Yes.” Ashara smiled. “Yes, I liked him very much. He couldn't ask me for a dance himself, you know. He was far too shy. He had to make his elder brother do it. And then he turned red when I agreed. But when we danced, his shyness went away and we talked. He's so very different from anyone I knew before.” 

“His reputation is good,” said Elia. “And a great lord's son is a fitting match for Lady Ashara Dayne...but he's a _second_ son, dearest. What future can he offer you? Especially in that horrible wasteland he calls home? I know,” Elia said, forestalling Ashara's response. “It's not so serious. You just like him, you don't know if you want to marry him. But it's always good to think about these things in advance. Suppose you consented to marry him in a moment of passion, and then found yourself trapped?” 

“I know,” Ashara said. “In truth I do not know what I would say if he asked. Or where we would live, or what we would do, if I said yes.” 

“You would not have to go to Winterfell,” Elia said. “He's not the heir, he won't have to stay there and rule. He could come to Dorne. Or King's Landing, and take a position at court. I could get him one.”

“That's sweet of you, Elia. I would not wish to leave all my friends and my life at court. But Ned...his roots in the north go deep, and his love of the land is great. I don't know if he could leave it.” 

“Well,” Elia said, “you can worry about that if your love for him grows. But with or without young Eddard Stark, I wish you'd stay with me at court. When Rhaegar becomes King, you can be my Hand.” She gave Ashara a mischievous smile. 

Ashara giggled. “Your Hand? Since when do queens have Hands?” 

“Since now,” Elia said gravely. “And why not?” 

“What would such a Hand do? The King's Hand governs the realm, so I suppose the Queen's would...arrange the tourneys?” 

Elia's laugh joined Ashara's. “Of course we couldn't _call_ you my Hand. That would look silly. Or worse, it would look like I was usurping my husband's powers, like Dorne was making a bid for the Iron Throne. But...Ashara, I have all sorts of plans about _what_ I would do as queen. For the smallfolk, for the city, for the court. And I know _why_ I should do it, and _who_ will have to be persuaded in order for my plans to work. But I don't know _how_. I'm hopeless at sums, I don't know anything about arranging transport of goods, or how to manage the cooks for a feast, or how to make sure the seamstresses understand their tasks and do them properly, or how to know if someone is cheating you...I never learned any of that.” 

“Never?” Ashara asked. “What _did_ you learn from your maesters in Dorne?” A bold question, as it was a bit insulting towards Elia's education and, by implication, towards her mother. But Ashara's courage was high at the moment. 

“Poetry,” Elia said, “and songs, and histories, and some statecraft, for I was Doran's heir until Arianne's birth. And some of the esoteric sciences of the Citadel. But the practical daily lady's work of running a castle, or queen's work of arranging big feasts and festivities...I never learned it. And I,” and here Elia's voice grew hard, “I need to make the lords and lordlings and smallfolk all love me. I need my position at court to be secure. This means I need to do things to capture their attention, to make them realize what a queen they have. As princess there is little I can do, but after...I mean, when Rhaegar is king...” 

_After Aerys dies, she means,_ Ashara thought. _After the madman dies. Rhaella will be a weak queen mother, and Elia will be able to do as she pleases._

“...there will be a place for me to fill. And I mean to fill it. But I'll need help from my ladies. Especially from you.” 

“Naturally I will be there to help you,” Ashara said proudly. She sat up, tried to smooth her hair and looked Elia in the eye. “As surely as my brother will be there to serve and protect the king.” She wore no white cloak and swore no sacred oaths, but the queen she served would be far worthier of loyalty than the current holder of the Iron Throne. 

Elia smiled, and clasped Ashara's hand. “Your brother is far too handsome to wear that white cloak,” she said, becoming playful again. “Such a waste. Only ugly men should be permitted to take the white or the black. And if a beautiful man breaks the law, then instead of sending him to the Wall...” 

“He can serve the ladies of the court,” Ashara finished, grinning. “We can have a special vault for them, like Baelor's Maidenvault.” 

“But we won't avoid temptation,” Elia said. “I'll share them all alike with all my ladies, never fear. It will be hard work for the men who are punished in this way, but then, they should have thought before they committed their crimes.” 

“I fear, my princess,” Ashara said, “that you might have the occasional man seeking out that sentence, and deliberately breaking the law just so you could punish him.” 

“What of it, if he's good-looking? Of course we shall be especially harsh to those we suspect of such slyness.” 

Ashara laughed. _Elia is cheerful again._ That was what she came here for, and if she found her own pleasure as well, that was all to the good.

_We'll manage,_ she thought. Nothing Rhaegar could do would be more terrible than crowning Lyanna Stark as his queen of love and beauty. And whatever happened, whatever her husband or good-father did, Elia could overcome it with Ashara's help. Rhaegar was not a cruel man, though perhaps he was a callous one, and as for Aerys...well. _If the gods are merciful the Throne will slay him._

_But the gods are seldom merciful._

Pushing the thought out of her mind, Ashara looked out the window. She had a moment's thought of weaving the blue roses into a crown for Elia, but then dismissed it. It would only put salt in that wound. She might be Ashara's queen of love and beauty, but her husband had still declared in full view of the assembled lords and ladies that she wasn't his. That shame would sting all the more if Ashara tried too hard to remove it. 

_I've eased it, at least. And I'll try to continue to ease it._ That was all she could do, in the end. She squeezed Elia's hand, sat back and was content.


End file.
